I looked in the mirror and what I saw was so much testosterone
that I could've shit.
My beard curls like an I-75 Flea Market sign with neon bulbs that
flashes from the Highway - "Ladies love my dick!"
Skull Lake pts. I through VXVLXXVIII put the big names on my
brands and the cone tits in my hands, but rejected them out of
respect for the music that Jeff Mangum was putting out from Georgia.
Well, Jesse recommended I do it.
And my cock!
Don't get me started!
It's so big it be like, "Daaaamn!"

This can all be filled with mindless jargon.
What can I do to hold someone's attention?
I can freestyle.
Observe:
"I wanna wear your anus like a bracelet bitch.
I wanna feel your colon wrapped around my fist.
I'm gonna fuck you so hard that your kidneys shift.
'Cuz I'm the Colonator, bitch, you can't handle my dick!"
Applause.
Reviews.
Legend status all bundled in a nice even que.
Safe for another year, I be.

I sit looking at the landing strip that I shaved into my pubic hairs.
Clear for take off.
I take pictures of moments like these and tack them to my wall,
next to a big chunk of bathroom tile from Wes Anderson's house.
"I give this to you," he said, "because you just get it man. If I could
ship every teenager that ever picked up a pen out to sea, I would."
"Thank you, Wesley," I replied. "You know, at this very moment it's like
you're Gail Wynand and I'm Howard Roark."
That was a book reference.
That's when someone writes a poem and puts some little reference
somewhere in a stanza. Most of the time it's something written in
French or something from a Passolini movie or some shit.
That reference was from The Fountainhead.
Not exactly a book for pretentious types, but I'm sure it will be soon because
the public appeal of my writing is universal.

I end this sitting in a raft on the Marrow Ocean.
It's boring out here.
I didn't charge my DS before I left for sail, so now I have to
sit and listen to the waves whisper:"....something about sailors....and lighthouses......
...and war widows..........and other shit that I know
nothing.....
....about."

Location: Hello? Hello mother leopard, I have your cub. You must protect her, but that will be expensive. Ten thousand cola nuts, wrapped in brown paper, midnight behind the box. I'll be the Hyena, you'll see.

o dag look I'm in the title.
I guess that means I have to read this.
..reads.
EDIT
HAHA, love.

Speaking of how universally loved I am, how come I never answered a fucking questionaire for WOTM? Slip someone's mind? Gotta save WOTM for the next 16 year old who writes a piece about a sailor finding a dead bird by a lighthouse?